


Under His Breath

by helens78



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Dominance/submission, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-07
Updated: 2005-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan and Methos go on a road trip, with Methos in control.  Pulling over to the side of the road wasn't Duncan's idea, but he's agreed to go with Methos's ideas this weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under His Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This is a remix of [Whispers](http://www.mediafans.org/rachael/highlander/whispers.html) by [**wickedwords**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/wickedwords/).

The road leading down the coast from Seacouver to San Diego was gorgeous. Duncan had driven it with Tessa more than once, but he'd had no clue Methos even knew about it.

Duncan was beginning to think Methos really did know everything. The coast road, the right small towns and empty cabins... the right deserted spot on the beach, where there was no hint of civilization past the concrete buildings with the restrooms.

"No one around for miles," Methos said, "but it never hurts to be sure. Stay here a minute; I'll be back."

So Duncan climbed out of the T-bird and walked around to lean up against the hood. They'd been gone two days on nothing more than a weekend whim; Methos had snatched the car keys out of Duncan's hand, thrown two duffel bags in the back seat, and started them off, not even explaining where they were going until they hit the 101. And when Duncan had asked if there was a reason for the trip, Methos had shrugged. "There's a new moon this weekend," he'd said. "Is that a good enough excuse?" Duncan sometimes wondered why he bothered asking questions. Methos gave up exactly as much information as he wanted to, and not an iota more.

The buzz got strong again as Methos came back into view. "All clear?" Duncan asked.

"Not so much as a whiff of anyone but us," Methos assured him, walking up and planting his hands to either side of Duncan's hips. "Does that put any nicely licentious thoughts into your head?"

"Seems more like you who's got licentious thoughts," Duncan murmured. His body gave him away, though; the growing urge to do more than just stand here posturing wasn't one-sided in the least, and the minute Methos moved forward, he'd feel that.

Methos waited, though, a breath away from touching him. Duncan was trapped here, pinned against the side of the car, by nothing more than the soft heat of Methos's breath against his cheek and the knowledge that moving forward would step over some kind of boundary. This was Methos's show, Methos's game, and Duncan was here to do what he was told.

That was the real meaning behind Methos taking Duncan's keys out of his hand: Methos was taking over for the weekend. He hadn't asked for permission, and Duncan knew better than to think he'd start anytime soon. This was part of the thrill for both of them: the unspoken way Duncan had handed over control; the question of whether Methos would stop if Duncan asked him to. If Duncan would _want_ him to stop.

"I'm willing to negotiate," Methos whispered, which made Duncan frown for a moment before he went on. "You can have me, instead. If you're not in the mood to get fucked in public."

Duncan had to give Methos credit; he knew how to ask. The setting was dangerous enough to be thrilling, but safe enough to keep Duncan from balking. _Would you, though? If this were a parking lot in the city. If you were just off the side of the road. Would you balk at that?_

Methos didn't wait for an answer. He ran his hand down Duncan's chest, over his waist, straight to his cock and balls, cupping both in his hand. "I want you," he whispered. It sounded like an order. Duncan shifted, parted his legs further. "I don't feel like waiting."

"Then don't wait." Duncan leaned forward so he could brush his cheek against Methos's. If it wasn't an attempt at taking the lead, it was at least an invitation. "I don't care who overhears."

"You expect to make a lot of noise tonight?" Methos asked. He bared his teeth, grinning, and Duncan realized -- not for the first time -- just how predatory Methos could look if he tried. "I think I can get you there." He _squeezed_, and Duncan curled forward, reaching up to grab Methos's arms. Leather. Methos was in leather tonight; leather jacket, black jeans, thin black turtleneck, and he looked as dangerous as he felt with his hand gripping Duncan's cock almost hard enough to hurt. "You're not making any sound yet..."

"Please," Duncan whispered.

"Mmm." Methos rubbed his cheek against Duncan's and let his cock go, hands moving to Duncan's hips and squeezing. "Turn around," he said, stepping back to give Duncan just enough room. Duncan bent down slightly and flattened his palms against the hood; Methos chuckled and reached around to his belt buckle. "You _do_ know what we're doing here. That's a good sign."

"You don't have to talk me to death," Duncan murmured. "Just do it."

"Just do what? Just fuck you?" Methos kissed the back of Duncan's neck as he got Duncan's pants unfastened, shoved down to his thighs. "I was planning on it. But you can keep begging if you want."

Begging. How did Methos read begging in what Duncan was saying? The worst of it was he was _right_; Duncan's words might be demands on the surface, but underneath all of them were pleas. _More, harder, take me, please, yours_... actually having to say any of it aloud would be terrifying. This was easier. Just let Methos take what he wanted; let him do whatever it was he planned on doing. Duncan would love it regardless.

"Lean forward a little more." Methos put a hand on Duncan's lower back and pushed him forward; Duncan stretched further across the hood of the T-bird, obliging him. "Not enough," Methos decided, and he jerked at Duncan's shirt, pulling it back and down, tangling Duncan's arms in it as buttons popped open and seams ripped, exposing Duncan's chest to the air. Duncan grunted as Methos levered him all the way down, cheek and chest against the hood, and groaned softly as Methos twisted fabric until Duncan's hands were trapped behind his back. Maybe he could have gotten free given enough time; he wasn't inclined to try it.

"That's good. That's _much_ better," Methos declared. Duncan could hear him, feel him as Methos went to his knees, and he jerked forward when Methos leaned in and sank his teeth into Duncan's inner thigh. "Going somewhere?" Methos asked, licking up. _Up._ Duncan shivered, certain Methos wasn't doing that, wasn't going there, wasn't -- the certainty lasted right up to the moment when Methos reached up and spread his cheeks apart, tongue flicking in against his opening.

He was right about making noise. It was one whimper at first, nothing too mortifying, but then the first whimper gave way to a second and a third, and before long Duncan was trying to muffle them against hot metal, pressing his face against the T-bird's hood. He was fairly certain he heard a chuckle behind him, but Methos's tongue was so busy it was hard to tell. Licking in, twisting, the tip gliding in slow circles around the pucker, and Duncan growled softly as he pushed back, trying to get more. Methos gave it to him, tongue thrusting in hard, as deep as he could manage, and whether it was five thousand years of sexual depravity or just natural talent at work, Duncan didn't care. Methos was _that good_, and Duncan wanted everything he had to offer.

He could come like this, he realized. Just from the feel of Methos's tongue pressing into his body, the way his hands were trapped behind him, the scent of saltwater on the air. He could come, except he wanted more than this. He wanted Methos to drag it out of him, _force_ it out, he wanted permission, he wanted _orders_. _Tell me to come, you bastard, and I'll come. Please..._

Methos stopped; Duncan groaned at that, too, until he realized Methos was standing up. He heard the metallic zip of Methos's fly coming undone, and shoved back as soon as he felt Methos's cock pressed up hard against his opening. Methos reached forward and twisted his fingers into Duncan's hair, tugging his head back. "_Now._"

The first thrust hurt, but it was the kind of pain Duncan welcomed, warm and solid, primal. Methos kept going, not letting up until Duncan was getting words out: "please", "more", "_yes_". The rhythm changed then -- hard and slow, rough but controlled. The kind of pace Duncan knew he could keep up for hours, had kept up for hours on a few memorable occasions.

Duncan could get lost like this. He could forget everything and everyone else, caught up in the feel of being taken this way, Methos's body merging with his as their quickenings rubbed up against each other and intensified Duncan's awareness of the man behind him. He could almost feel the pleasure Methos was taking in seeing him laid out this way. He could almost taste how badly Methos wanted him.

And he stopped fighting it. There was nothing else in his world right now. Just Methos driving into him, using him, taking everything for granted because he knew, damn him, that Duncan was never going to protest. Methos always knew. He was always going to be one step ahead of Duncan. It was always going to be like this.

It didn't matter. Duncan groaned when Methos worked a hand underneath him, groaned louder when Methos wrapped his fingers around Duncan's cock. "_Please_," he whispered.

Methos squeezed hard, which was close enough to permission for Duncan. His cock jerked in Methos's hand, and he closed his eyes as he came, body tightening around Methos's cock. He was barely aware of it when Methos shouted and came with him, half-collapsing onto him when it was over. It didn't take long for Methos to catch his breath, though, and soon enough he pulled back, freed Duncan's arms and rolled him over so he could grin down at him.

"You all right?" he asked softly, reaching down to rub at Duncan's shoulder. "Need help getting dressed?"

Duncan shook his head; he'd caught his own breath by now and was already struggling to stand up again. His shirt was ruined, but at least he could get his jeans back up and his belt buckled again. Methos wandered around and pulled a sweater out of the car, tossing it at Duncan, who caught it and tugged it on. Better. It was starting to feel cold out.

There was nothing left of Methos's predatory look as they got back in the car and started the drive to their cabin. Duncan didn't say anything; for some reason he didn't want to hear Methos laughing, didn't want to hear Methos come back to normal. There was an edge to him some nights that made Duncan think he was seeing the _real_ Methos, not the friendly, beer-loving variety who spent most of his time at Joe's bar or on Duncan's sofa at home. It was times like this Duncan thought he might really know the man who'd invited himself into Duncan's life, into his bed.

It was probably an illusion as much as anything else was. But if he didn't shy away from this side of Methos, maybe Methos would get the idea one of these days. _I want to know all of you. Good and bad. I'm not afraid, Methos._

He looked up at the stars and shook his head, laughing silently at himself. Methos raised his eyebrows and looked over, but didn't ask.

_-end-_


End file.
